


Glimpsing The Aftermath

by CharbroilLaFlamme



Series: Bioshock: Measurement of A Father [11]
Category: BioShock 1 & 2 (Video Games)
Genre: BioShock References, BioShock Spoilers, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Internal Monologue, Mild Language, Newspapers, Photography, Rapture (BioShock)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 20:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15714114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharbroilLaFlamme/pseuds/CharbroilLaFlamme
Summary: Stanley takes some photos of the brand new Subject Epsilon.





	Glimpsing The Aftermath

“ _Son of a bitch..._ ” Stanley said, agape, leg bouncing with fifty flavours of nervous energy stemming from some very recent self-indulgence.

Before him was one of the newest models, robust, undamaged, but just a _little_ scuffed.

“ _Sinclair._ ” He said, his hands clutched his camera. “Er— _Epsilon_ —whatever the hell...” He gulped, voice trailing off into a breath. He sidled further into the dark, carefully evading its yellow glowing cone of sight.

_God, look what they did to him..._

Stanley had no words for it, but had a sinking, bitter feeling in his gut.

_Look at what **I** did to him. **Me**._

He noted that he was without his Sister and breathed easier. He could approach the big old brute without kicking the hornet’s nest, he followed behind, kneeling in a corner and lifting the camera carefully and angling the view. “Alright... show me your good side, big guy...” he mumbled to himself. “ _Focus, you sonofabitch_...” he hissed at the camera in his hands—but partially to himself.

He finally got a good clear shot. “There. _Finally_.”

Stanley realised he had been talking to himself, then second to that, he was alone. He had managed to evade the traffic.

He withdrew the photograph and gently shook it to get the image to pop out.

What was he even _doing_ there? Following a Big Daddy around? Taking photographs like a madman? Perhaps to commemorate his “triumph” over impossible odds.

He shrugged and looked back down at the photograph.

“Shows off your callsign good, don’t it?” He noted the inky white splotch shaped like an _E_ on the Big Daddy’s hand. “ _Wow_...” Sure, the specific science angle of it seemed like a lot of hoopla to Stanley. But he was fascinated in some respects by the whole thing.

Sinclair had been erased and forgotten by the whole lot of the city—and nobody even seemed to care enough to even try snooping.

Which was good for Stanley—since not even _Ryan_ knew that the story about Sinclair and Lamb was a complete work of fiction.

God forbid Sinclair had been able to get that little nugget of truth to Ryan.

And honestly, Stanley couldn’t even _conceive_ of the possibility that Sinclair would ever _think_ of... _getting cozy_ with the _Ice Queen herself_. She didn’t strike Stanley as being Sinclair’s type. Though he had learned from a few studies that they both liked the same brand of cigarettes—but that was _hardly_ incidental.

But that was what good writing was for—making them believe it.

Ryan didn’t question it—in fact, he even seemed overjoyed to see Sinclair getting the rug pulled out from under him.

Of course, Stanley didn’t think that it would go _this_ far. He didn’t mean for this to happen. Only to teach Sinclair a lesson.

Stanley remembered when Sinclair employed—nay, _extorted_ —him. Waving payment over his head like bait, waiting for the newsman to beg.

Of course, Stanley _never_  got that payment. Stanley _never_ bounced back from his debts once he’d submitted his information to Ryan. Sinclair lied to him.

So he spilled all of his feelings into a story, just so he could see Sinclair waste away. At least for a little while.

But one thing led to another—Persephone was annexed by Ryan’s side and Sinclair was shipped off for Big Daddy conversion.

And here was the result of the whole ordeal in front of him; clad in brass, wandering the streets, void of any independent thought and wiped of memory.

He took another photo as the beast pivoted into a perfect pose, head turned just so and his drill peeking past his leg. “Good job, Stanley.” The newsman murmured. “Single-handedly avoided getting caught dead-to-rights.” He snapped another shot, licking his lips, looking forward with a focused glint in his tired eyes.

But why did it still feel like he was trying to escape punishment? Nobody else could _possibly_ know. Anyone who did know was summarily dealt with. Two nosy little girls, a set of parents, Lamb, and Sinclair. 

Point being, he could still hear the heartbeat under the floorboards, and it was putting him on edge.

He viewed the photograph in his fingers for a while. Thoughts escaped him for a moment, no back-patting or self-feedback made its way to words.

Only a vague feeling of success, pride, and relief—that Sinclair had gotten his comeuppance once and for all.

He also felt some sort of gaping, displacing emptiness that didn’t belong.

 _All that work_ , he thought, _and I still don’t feel good about it._

**Author's Note:**

> — Stanley is pretty contented with this outcome, but not even the sleaze-bag is exempt from feeling guilty—but he don’t feel guilty enough to try and make amends.
> 
> — Stanley’s mostly photographing for posterity and himself, but also possibly for an article about the wonders of Rapture’s scientific exploits.
> 
> — Stanley’s big end to all of this is mostly Sinclair’s failure to uphold his end of the bargain while Stanley was busting his ass to get in Sofia’s good graces.


End file.
